


The Edge

by RayOfSunshine25



Category: Edge of Winter (2016), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Ben Parker Lives, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, I’m so sorry the first chapter is trash, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, ah shit i don’t know what I’m doing, also what does beta mean, haha tags, haha what is that title tho, i dont know what im doing, i just wanted to get it started, i really do love her I just, if i say it’s my first fic it sounds unappealing so, ill probably go back and fix it up I was just too excited bro, its definitely NOT my first fic, sorry - Freeform, uh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2019-10-16 06:12:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17544245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayOfSunshine25/pseuds/RayOfSunshine25
Summary: Peter Parker’s life has never been perfect, but he’s always had hope. Hope for his future and for the people in his life.Now, it’s all gone. May has died, and he has nowhere else to turn. Or does he?Mr. Stark, his mentor, offers him a chance to live with him, and it’s practically a no brainer. That is, until Ben Parker comes back into the picture.-So basically it’s a mix of Spider-Man Homecoming and Edge of Winter because I wanna see what would happen if I combined those two universes. Also it’s Tom Holland, so that kind of justifies all of it. Summary kinda sucks, but it is a good read, I promise. Rated mature for language.*edit* - can be read without having seen the movie





	1. Chapter 1

Peter was with Michelle when it happened.

He was actually enjoying himself; his afternoon had started off with the Decathlon Team drilling for the competition next week, and Peter had actually managed to show up. The everyday criminals had been taking it easy during patrol, the semester was finally over, and he could focus on the people in his life. Peter had been prioritizing Ned more than before, and he went over to his house and they talked about Star Wars and the Avengers. He and May had just underwent a baking marathon a couple days back, roughly half of what they made ending up in the garbage. After that, they had watched a couple James Bond movies, and Peter had never been happier. 

Now, Michelle was scaring off Flash and his comments with nothing more than a glare, and offering subtle nods to Peter whenever he gave her a smile. He swore he saw her grin, but a second later it was gone and she was grilling him on the second law of thermodynamics.

She was beautiful, but she was scary. 

Later in the evening, when everyone was heading home, Peter had gathered up the courage that had been slowly building inside him throughout the day. Peter asked Michelle to some hot chocolate. The silence that followed nearly sent Peter into an anxiety induced coma, but before that could happen, she said yes. Peter managed to not do a backflip right in front of her.

Peter’s insides, however, were doing the backflips with each step he took in time with hers as they walked to the coffee shop. They chatted while getting their drinks, and upon ordering Peter insisted he paid, but Michelle just raised her eyebrow, smirking, and put down two bucks to pay for herself. The two ended up wandering around a park nearby, and eventually they both settled down on the swings of a play set. 

“So you mean to tell me, that your three brothers got into a Nerf war, a war which you weren’t even a part of, and in the end the real victor was you?” Peter asked, smirking inside his cup, letting the steam warm his face. 

Michelle nodded, swaying on the swing. “Yeah, Liam always denies it, but it’ll be written in the history of my family until the end of time.”

“Oh really?” Peter knows she’s not trying to be funny, but he can’t help the small giggle that escapes him. God, he lov- he really really likes- her. 

Michelle smiles anyway. “Yup. Sometimes they’re the most insufferable people I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing.”

“Uh, wow.” Peter could tell she was joking, y’know, partially, but Peter thought about him and May, the only relative in his life that was ever there for him. Peter knew that sometimes he and May had their own rare disputes between them (Spider-Man), but he would never, ever regret knowing her. May was a blessing in his life.

“But mostly, and don’t ever tell them this,” she added, shifting in her seat, “I really do love them a lot.” 

“Ha! I knew you were a nice person.” 

“Oh shut up,” but Peter knew there was no bite behind it. Michelle sat there, looking like something was brewing in her mind, and Peter waited for her to speak. “So what about you?”

And it’s not what Peter expected. Peter hummed in question. “What do you mean?” 

“Like, any family members that get on your nerves?” 

And just like that Peter felt an uncomfortable and unwelcome emotion jolt through him. He suddenly wanted to move, to do something, but he knew what he was feeling was ridiculous. He shook his head. “Well, you know that I don’t have siblings, and May and I don’t often fight about much. . .” he trailed off. 

Michelle nodded, urging him on.

Peter hesitated, but opted to share. “Uh, sometimes Ben, y’know, my uncle. He kinda pisses me off a little.” 

“Why’s that?” It made him feel better that Michelle sounded genuinely curious.

“Well, he’s just not there for me, y’know, when I feel like he should. And I know I’ve got May, which is more than enough, but sometimes there’s just something missing.”

Michelle nods, contemplating, and her silence makes him continue.

“Ever since May and Ben divorced, he’s been distant whenever I go see him, which has been, like, twice in the past year. Plus he’s an asshole.”

Michelle guffaws a laugh, and Peter thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. She apologizes, but Peter waves her off. 

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s just what it is.” And really, where Peter's life was at that moment was the best it’s ever been at, and not even Ben could change that. They’re both giggling when his phone rings.

“Here, can I. . .?” He hold up his phone and she nods, sipping at her drink.

“Hiya, Peter Parker here.” From behind his phone he practically hears Michelle roll her eyes, and he smiles.

“Uh, hello. This is Dr. Klein, from Metro General Hospital. There’s been an accident regarding a May Parker? I would assume you are related to her, our only other name here is Ben Parker and we can’t seem to get in contact with him.”

“Yes, yes this is- yes I am.” His smile is gone, a ghost of before, his face is white, and his voice is tight, tense. He doesn’t even register Michelle look to him quizzically.

He hears a sigh on the other end and his heart is going double time. “What-what’s going on, what happened? Is she alright?” 

“Mr. Parker, your aunt was fatally injured during a car accident. She didn’t make it to surgery. I’m sorry.”

Peter’s brain is blank. He doesn’t know how to even begin processing what he’s just been told. 

“I - I don’t, I can’t - what?” His fingers are numb. Why can’t he feel his fingers? 

“It would be best for you to take a few deep breaths and come down here when you can -”

Peter hangs up, chest heaving, and he runs, not even hearing Michelle shout his name as he takes off. He doesn’t slow to hide his powers, he just runs. And runs and runs and runs.

He gets to the hospital, berating himself for believing that his life could ever be as good as what he thought it was. That’s just how it was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> À l’hôpital.

Arriving at the hospital, Peter can’t help but notice that the lights are brighter than he feels they should be. Everything around him seems louder and faster, with children crying by their fathers side, nurses chatting amongst themselves, and mothers cooing at their newborn babies as they leave to go home.

All around him is life, bursting and gushing life, but beneath all of it Peter can smell the unmistakable scent of death. It’s the suffocating odor of antiseptics and disease, as well as something foul. Like rotting flesh.

It makes sense, seeing as he’s at a hospital, but the implications of it makes his bones go colder than the biting air outside. Peter runs up to the front desk, heart thumping painfully in his chest.

“Peter Parker. Here—, I-I’m here for May Parker.” 

The lady looks up from her computer and notes how his disheveled hair is swept in front of his eyes, making him look extremely desperate and worried for such a young boy. She nods, regardless, chirping a short, “Sure!” To Peter, it sounds sickly and forced. He wants to cover his ears, but he needs to know that May is alright. That she isn’t-

Of course she’s not alright. You heard the doctor, idiot, she’s gone, dead-

In front of him, the receptionist clicks her tongue, scrolling through her computer. Soon she stops and her eyes dart back and forth across the screen, and Peter watches as her expression goes from cheerful, to shock, and finally to resigned sadness. He focuses on the tiny details, the way her crinkled eyes and her shoulders fall, how her upturned lips form a frown, and he even watches as her ocean blue eyes begin to fog with grief. But not for herself. 

As soon as Peter realizes this, his breathing quickens immediately, and soon he gasps out nearly all of the air in his lungs. It’s as if somebody had taken their fist and squeezed his windpipe and he can’t take in air. Doubling over with one hand clutching the glassy surface of the desk, he grasps the front of his shirt, shaking his head frantically. His eyes pool but tears don’t fall. May’s not gone, she’s not— no, she can’t be. This morning he had just hugged her goodbye as she left for work. He remembered the way she smelled, so unlike where he was currently, like lavender and burnt cookies and home. He wants that. 

He wants May. 

Without her he’s— he’s got no one left. He has nobody left to take care of him or make sure he’s ok, though at this point Peter doubts that he will ever be ok. There’s nobody except, well, nobody except Ben. 

“No no no no.” Peter mumbles through his choked heaves of precious breath that he can’t seem to hold on to. 

“Hey, hey! Hey, it’s alright! You’re going to be just fine Peter, you just have to breathe.” He notices, briefly, that it’s the receptionist talking to him, along with other nearby nurses who have joined the scene, trying to coax him from passing out. If anything he would’ve preferred the dark bliss of unconsciousness, but that’s not how his luck works, as Peter is well aware. 

A lady in white scrubs grabs his hand that was previously cracking the table, to the surprise of many onlookers, and leads him into another hall. Peter is too focused on breathing to care who is watching, he just wants May. He wants May more than anything.

“Peter, right? Honey I need you to follow me please,” says the nice woman, gently unfolding his other hand from his shirt, which appeared creased when he let go. She has one hand on his back, leading him through the maze of the bleached hospital. 

As Peter allows himself the breath that he so desperately needed, he’s able to think. He’s at a hospital. There is a nurse with her hand on his back leading him to a room. Everything is getting louder and brighter, but he’s dealt with stuff like that before. Except now, it doesn’t go away. 

The hallway and everything around him is blurred, which doesn’t quite make sense. It scares him for a second, but then he remembers that he’s crying. However no tears have fallen. Not yet.

The two turn a corner, and the smell of death hits him like a freight train. He winces, and half expects to open his eyes to see a corpse decomposing on a bed. He doesn’t, and instead sees a man writing things down on a clipboard. He recognizes their arrival, sets his pen and paper down, and leans against the desk to his left. 

“Peter? My name is Dr. Klein, I’m the one who called you earlier this evening.” He says, quietly, as to not scare Peter off, who looks deathly white. 

All Peter can bring himself to do is nod. 

“Unfortunately, for your own benefit,” the man purses his lips, “we can’t allow you to see her.” Peter flinches at the abruptness. At the direct mention of _her_. “Her injuries that were sustained before we even got to her made her unrecognizable, and furthermore she was hurt while we tried extracting her from the vehicle.”

His knees feel weak. The lady, who he had forgotten was even there, knowingly pushes his back and leads him toward a chair. He sits down compliantly. She sits next to him. He knows he should be reacting to something, but all he can do is stare at the ground and feel numb. He nods again.

“We can’t disclose to you all the details regarding your aunt's passing, we need to speak to a parent or guardian about it. The hospital has tried many times to contact your uncle, but unfortunately we’ve been having some difficulty in that…” the doctor hesitates, losing his word. “Area.” 

Peter gaps, looking like a fish out of water for only a moment before clearing his throat, not quite trusting his voice to get him through a sentence. “I don’t— I don’t think he can- he can help all that much.” 

The doctor shifts, looking uncomfortable. “Well, Peter, he’s your last living relative. You are aware of this?”

Peter swallows and nods again. 

“If that’s the case who would you recommend us calling?” 

That’s it. 

Never in Peter’s entire life had he felt more stupid than he had right now. More ashamed. More scared. He has a feeling that it’s his only option, seeing as his uncle isn’t going to be there for him in the time that he needed it most. “Call Tony Stark. Please,” Peter whispers.

The nurse next to him shuffles, and rubs his shoulder as she hands him her phone. 

“Do you know his number?” 

“Yes.” Peter has it memorized, by Mr. Stark’s instruction. Before he can type the first digit, the doctor interrupts, putting his hand up to stop him.

“Peter, I know you’re scared, and confused. But you have to realize that Mr. Stark is a very busy—”

Peter types in the rest of the number, refusing to listen to Dr. Klein. He knows it’s rude, but he needs Mr. Stark. He needs him to fix his messed up life. The line rings twice, and it’s the most stressed and terrified Peter has ever been as he waits for him to pick up. He does. 

Mr. Stark doesn’t even get a word in when Peter’s sobbing into the phone.

“Mr. S-Stark, I- I need you. I can’t. I can’t do this. You- you gotta h-help me plea- _please_!” 

“Kid, hey! What’s going on, are you hurt? Don’t tell me that you—”

“I’m at- at the h-hospital. She’s g-.” He can hardly get himself to say it. “It’s M-May, she- there was an acci-accident.” Peter coughs and his lungs rattle. He bows his head as tears drip in his lap. “I need you.” He adds in a whisper.

“Peter, hey, kid? You are going to be just fine, I swear to God, I’ll be there. Don’t worry, ok? You’ll be fine, I’m coming. Just ten minutes out, just ten minutes, can you do that for me? Kiddo?” Mr. Stark is rambling, but Peter replies with a short ‘yea,’ and settles for listening to his mentor go on and say things that don’t really mean anything but at the same time mean _everything_.

He hears the iron man thrusters increase in speed. If he tries hard enough he can make out what sounds like Mr. Stark’s rushing heartbeat through the phone. 

Suddenly, as if everything just overflowed, the sounds around him increase tenfold, as do the lights and the smells. A thousand heartbeats and a thousand more conversations are picked up from around the entire hospital and a few blocks down from there, even, and next to him the breathing of the people in the room is like listening to loud vacuums. The lights above become blinding, so much so that he sees red even while closing his eyes. And the smells. Oh God it’s everywhere. He feels bile rise in his throat, and he rushes out of the death room. He grasps blindly as his spidey sense leads him to a bathroom, but even that’s going crazy. He crashes into a stall and empty’s whatever little food he had consumed for a crappy school lunch from his stomach.

He stays in there for what feels like forever, throwing up, and at some point he realizes a presence behind him reach their hand over to his forehead. He leans into the support, smelling the grease and feeling the strong, calloused hands carry his head. He savors the cool against his burning skin, and his sobs come back again, racking his small form and leaving him boneless on the floor of a hospital bathroom. The last thing he hears before he passes out is Mr. Stark’s voice in his ear, like an angel from the heavens.

“I’m here.”

 

——————————————————————

 

Peter wakes up in a chair, in same room that he was in when he talked with the doctor. The only difference now is that the lights are off and Mr. Stark is next to him, so that makes it ok. 

His head is leaned against his mentors shoulder as said mentor runs his hands through his hair. It feels nice, and it grounds him. Unfortunately, he wakes up to his head absolutely throbbing. Sometimes the aftershocks of his sensory overloads leave him with a killer migraine at the end of it, and he almost wishes he was never bit by that Godforsaken spider. He’s been doing that a lot lately, but he knows that he has the power, so the burden lands on him to help people. He hates to call it a burden, but that’s really what it is.

Peter groans, softly, and raises his hands to his head. He rubs his temples as if trying to physically push the ache out of his head. It doesn’t work.

“Peter?”

Peter hums.

“You haven’t been out for long, you know. Probably 20 minutes or so since I got here.” Mr. Stark pushes Peters hands out of the way with the hand that was playing with his curls, and starts rubbing his aching head himself. That feels nice.

The silence that follows stretches on for many minutes, during which Peter finds himself closing his eyes again. Nobody speaks for a long time. Peter doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t think, he hardly responds to anything other than the man beside him, rubbing his head so the pain goes away. Inside his heart, the pain is still there. Peter wishes it wasn’t. A small whimper escapes his lips.

“I couldn’t— they didn’t even let me see her,” he says, his voice broken. 

Mr. Stark sighs.

“I couldn’t even say goodbye.”

Mr. Stark turns so his face is buried in Peters hair. “I know, kid. I’m so sorry.” 

Peter shakes, crying. His cheeks are wet with tears. He can’t even remember when they started, he just knows that they’re nowhere near stopping. 

“I had just- just seen her this morning, and now she’s- she’s-.” Peter wails, clutching Mr. Stark’s jacket as he curls his legs into his body. “I was-was with MJ, and we- I had no i-idea.”

“Oh, kid.” Mr. Stark’s voice wobbles. “There’s no way you could’ve known.”

Peter shakes his head frantically, sobbing. “But- but I was h- _happy!_ ” He bows his head closer to Mr. Stark’s chest in shame. 

“Christ.” Mr. Stark leans his head back in the chair and squeezes his eyes shut, before opening them and situating his body so that he’s looking directly in Peter’s red rimmed eyes. “Peter, listen to me. You deserve to be happy. Ok? You deserve a break from everything that’s been going on with you, kiddo.” Mr. Stark’s eyes flash with uncertainty, but then they become clear again. He adds, “And May would want that for you too.”

Peter’s lip quivers. 

“Come ‘ere.” Mr. Stark wraps Peter up again, and the kid breaks down once more. He spends the next couple minutes weeping and bawling. He clings to Mr. Stark like a lifeline through it all, and the billionaire allows him to get his tears out. Once his sobbing turns to softer cries and small whimpers, Mr. Stark clears his throat.

“Just… know that I’m here for you kid, alright?” 

Peter nods, relief flooding his body. There was, however, still a problem that hung in the air.

“What about, y’know, ‘bout Ben?” 

Mr. Stark was aware of the presence of Ben Parker in Peter’s life, or lack thereof, and although he had never met the guy, he had a bad feeling about him. He knew he drank quite a lot, and his actions under the influence are what got him kicked off of the police force. He knew he was being hypocritical, but at least he cut down a lot ever since meeting the kid. He knew that Ben couldn’t say the same. Whenever Peter spoke about him it was hardly ever positive. He would always look away or seem uncomfortable whenever he was brought up in conversation. Mr. Stark sighed again (boy was he doing that a lot lately).

“Well, what about Ben?” 

Peter hesitates, before asking, almost desperately, “Do you think I’ll have to live with him?”

Mr. Stark wants nothing more than to scoop the poor boy up in his arms and take him to his penthouse where they’ll work in the lab til morning, but he knows that won’t solve Peter’s problems. Hell, it hardly solves his own, no matter how much he tells himself otherwise. 

“Well, do you want that?” Mr. Stark hopes he doesn’t.

Peter doesn’t say anything for a second, thinking. He opens his mouth to speak, when a nurse walks into the dark room.

“Peter? And, uh, Mr. Stark. I believe Ben Parker just arrived, he’s waiting out here for you.” 

Peter tenses immediately, slight but noticeable in Mr. Stark’s arms. The older man nods at the nurse, and she leaves. It’s quiet for a couple seconds.

“Hey Peter?”

“Yeah?” 

Peter sounds so scared and it hurts his heart. “My home is always open to you, you know. Mi casa es su casa, got it?” He ruffles his hair and it earns him a small, however sad laugh, which is at least a step in the right direction. 

Peter nods, reluctantly extracting himself from Mr. Stark’s hold. “Ok.”

Peter stood, his body, heart, and mind aching, wanting nothing more than to stay with Mr. Stark, but his uncle was waiting for him. He couldn’t bring himself to let his last living relative down. He just didn’t have the heart. He’s halfway out the door when he stops and turns around. “Come with me?” He asks in a small voice. 

Mr. Stark gives a small smile and stands to follow. “Always, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. So yeah, this is probably a better chapter (maybe), and I like it. I think now that I’m into the swing of things it’ll go a lot better for me. I’m pretty proud of myself for how fast I got this up, I mean I started this chapter right when I posted the first chapter so...  
> Anyway, I just wanna say that I would definitely appreciate it if you would please leave a comment and share what you do/don’t like about the story. I am 100% open to criticism to make my stories better. If you’ve read this far into a stupid long end note, then good for you, and I appreciate you. So yeah, that’s about it.  
> Leave a comment, whatever, and spam me if I don’t post for awhile, thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we meet...
> 
> Uncle Ben

Walking out of the hospital room, Peter notices that everything around him becomes much clearer. He can hear the things around him at a bearable level, his sight is much sharper, and if it wasn’t for his head he would’ve felt great. 

Except… it isn’t great. Great seems so far away, an endless road that would be futile to try and walk down. 

Peter blinks, shaking the hopeless thought from his mind. Outside is a more private waiting room, that he guesses he passed when he practically threw himself in the bathroom. Chairs line the walls, almost every single one of them holding a person, all of them holding mixtures of grief, fear, and shock on their faces. So many people have others in their lives who they’ve lost, or were losing, just in that hospital alone. Peter silently mourns those lost people, but he doesn’t put too much effort because his body, let alone his mind, is exhausted. 

He briefly notices Mr. Stark walk out into the waiting room, now in orange shades, staying a few paces behind him to give him space. Peter appreciates the thought, but really, he would rather have Mr. Stark by his side.

He looks around the room, almost wishing he won’t find Ben, until he finds himself looking straight at him. 

A chill and a quick flash from his spider sense courses through him as his Uncle gives him a grin. As he walks closer, the man becomes much more detailed, and Peter can see dark circles under his eyes, disheveled hair with small flecks of gray. Peter nearly steps back, but stops, and tells himself he’s being ridiculous. 

It bothers him to no end that Ben’s smiling like he hasn’t got a care, like he is blissfully ignorant of his late ex-wife. However, he assumes that he’s probably just putting on a brave face for Peter. Peter decides to return the favor, and he gives a smile that looks more like a grimace. 

“Well, look at you.” Wait, he actually looks _happy_. “How’ve you been Pete?” 

Peter licks his lips. “Um.” 

Ben seems to realize the situation, his eyes widening, and corrects himself. “I mean, I can’t imagine everything you must be goin’ through, y’know? I mean, with your parents, and now your aunt, it’s all gotta be a lot to take in, I bet.”

Peter inwardly cringes incredibly hard, but nods in response anyway. “Uh,” his voice cracks, but he clears it and tries again. “Um, yeah. It- It’s a lot.”

Despite himself, Ben smiles. “Aw, man. Even your voice is different, have you gotten taller since last time I saw you?” It’s like he’s inspecting a display at a museum, and once again, Peter feels uncomfortable in the presence of his Uncle. His only legal guardian. Hopelessness and despair overtake him, but after sparing another look in the man's eyes, he can see genuine effort, as if he’s really trying to reach out and connect with him. Peter feels obliged to do the same.

“Uh, yeah, I think so. May-.” Peter nearly loses his breath. Forcing his chest to take in air, he steels himself. He can do this. Plastering on a smile, he continues. “May always said that I never grew much, but, uh, here we are I guess.” 

“Here we are.” Ben smiles, almost in awe, and wider than he had seen before, and something sparks in Peter’s chest. Hope. He might be ok.

It’s almost a pleasant silence, then Ben looks up past Peter’s shoulder and meets the gaze of Mr. Stark, his eyebrows shooting up in the process. “Well I’ll be damned. Tony Stark.” There’s an undertone of annoyance in his voice, but before anyone can pick up on it he straightens. Ben walks up to him with his left hand raised, and Mr. Stark shakes it briefly. He raises an eyebrow at Ben's right hand, which is heavily bandaged in a cast and tucked at his side. 

“What’s this?” He asks, as if he’s actually concerned.

Ben chuckles, albeit a little nervously. “Aw, it’s nothing. Just a little accident at work.” 

Mr. Stark nods, expression still undefined under his glasses. “Right, of course. Where is it that you work again?” 

“Oh, just an old lumber yard, a ways north, nothing special.” If Mr. Stark notices Bens flippancy, he doesn’t show it. He nods, offering him a forced, tight lipped smile. 

Ben, who appears way too eager to leave, turns abruptly to face Peter, claps his hands and rubs them together, startling the kid. “Well, I’ve already got everything signed, now we’re just waiting on you, Pete.” 

Peter’s eyes, which had been previously studying his shoes, whips up to look up at Ben. “On- on me?” 

Ben clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. They’ll just need your signature and we can head on home.”

Home. That wasn’t a word he thought he would ever associate with his uncle. Home meant May and cookies, Ben meant awkward bowling nights and beer. The sheer speed of which the events were taking place left Peter’s mind in a whirl. His life was changing before his very eyes and he hardly had the power to stop it. He doesn’t want to go. He wants to be home, asleep in his bed, ready to wake up to warm pancakes and May-

Who is dead, idiot. Died painfully in some accident while you enjoyed yourself, you selfish-

Mr. Stark, on the side, notices the panic in Peter’s eyes and speaks up. “Hey, could I just borrow Peter for a second?” He’s herding the boy out of earshot before Ben can even say yes. 

Mr. Stark leads him around a corner before turning on Peter. He grips his shoulders, not painfully, and looks into his eyes. “Hey.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say. “Hi?”

Mr. Stark looks at him with such fierceness that Peter’s knees feel weak by just being under his unbreaking gaze.”This is your life, Peter. Not his. Yours. Ok?”

Peter hesitates for a second, then nods.

Mr. Stark looks pained, like he wants to say everything that’s running through his mind. He purses his lips, and when he speaks next it’s much quieter. “Peter, listen. I know how you feel about your Uncle. I-.” Mr. Stark pauses for a spell. The next thing he says is so quiet that Peter doubts he would be able to hear without his powers. “I understand why you would want to go with him, or feel obliged to, but you don’t need to. There are other options. You can-.” _You can live with me._ God, just say it. “You can stay with, you know, me, if you wanted to.” 

The intensity of Mr. Stark’s eyes and his words leave Peter speechless. “I-.”

“I just need you to know that there are other options on the table, okay kid?” The man now sounds desperate, like he thinks that he may have said the wrong thing.

Peter nods a bit too frantically, but before he can say anything else he senses someone approaching from behind.

“Hey there, Pete. Ready to go?” 

Ben sounds giddy and odd, but Peter has no clue as to why. He turns around too quickly, and Peter finds himself losing his words. “Uh, I mean, yeah, I just-.”

“Perfect, lets go buddy.” Ben begins walking back to the counter where Peter will soon agree to living with him. 

But really, how bad could that be? He didn’t wanna burden Mr. Stark, and as much as he would love to say yes, he wouldn’t want to let down Ben. Ben, who seems relatively nice, y’know, now. The biggest thing that Peter has a problem with him is that he drinks, but from what Peter can tell, he isn’t intoxicated in the slightest. Maybe Ben had changed for the better, and Peter’s being selfish for keeping a closed mind. Plus, it would be just like before Ben and May even got divorced, before Peter’s parents died. Except now, it would just be Ben. And really, how bad could that be. 

Peter turns to go follow; doubt, confusion, and guilt clouding his mind, before he feels a pull at his sleeve. Mr. Stark tugs him back to look at him, giving a short explanation of, “One more thing.”

Peter raises his eyebrows and nods, indicating him to explain. 

“Hey. If at any moment you feel unsafe or uncomfortable, all you gotta do is text me and I’ll come and get you, got it?” 

Peter looks directly in his mentors eyes and says, “Got it.”

Mr. Stark smiles, sadly, before ruffling Peter’s hair. “Alright kiddo.”

Peter nods one last time. “Alright.” 

Peter turns, making his way to the desk where he signs his name, hardly looking at the paper. He can practically feel the pull of doubt on his mind, like a magnet that won’t let up. When he looks to his left, however, he sees Ben, his face positively shining, and the pull lessens. The light in his chest burns a bit brighter, and Peter begins to feel good about his decision. Sure, living with Ben would take awhile to get used to, but he would do it, if only for his Uncle. Ben’s wide grin makes the corners of Peter’s lips upturn, just like how May’s smiles would do the same. 

May will never smile again.

Just like that, his heart starts to ache and his smile wobbles. All of the light that once resided in him leaks down to the floor, and Peter feels hollow. He comes across the realization that he’ll never see May smile again. Never see her laugh, or dance, or sing. He hates that he was happy when just a few hours ago the most important person in his life just slipped between his fingers. He also hates that whenever he thinks of her all he can feel is emptiness and sorrow, when he would normally be feeling love and adoration. 

The rest of the night feels like he’s stuck in a shell and watching himself. He’s being led by Ben out of the building, but before he leaves he can almost feel Mr. Stark’s concerned eyes watch him go. The maze of hallways is a blur, and the two of them make it outside. He originally flinches extremely hard when Ben wraps an arm around his shoulder when they’re walking in the parking lot, but gradually becomes desensitized to anything Ben does. He only responds to things that are directly spoken to him, and it worries Ben, however he lets it go quickly, chalking it up as shock. Peter doesn’t even know himself. 

He does know that he’s done this before. Completely hide away in his own mind. He did it after his parents died, when a girl he couldn’t save was shot and bled out in his arms right after becoming Spider-Man, when Skip-

They arrive at Ben’s place, which is a complete and utter mess, something that Peter doesn’t even notice as he’s so far within himself. 

Ben goes around awkwardly, cleaning things up and making small talk. Peter hears empty aluminum cans clinking, paper scuffling, and Ben’s chatter as if listening through a wall; muffled and dull. He nods a couple times when Ben asks him something, but that’s the extent of his effort. Ben senses this and says something like, “Time to hit the hay,” to which Peter actually takes the effort to completely ignore. He shuffles to the room Ben had pointed to for him, shuts the door and subconsciously locks it, before collapsing into a creaky bed that smells like dust and time. Only now he realizes how exhausted he is, and he doesn’t think much about it because as soon as he does, he’s already caught in the steel grip of unconsciousness. 

——————————————————————

The next morning, or more accurately, the next afternoon, Peter opens his eyes to-. 

Wait. What?

Peter wakes up to a room that is most definitely not his. His room has blue walls and shelves of Star Wars legos. This room has the old bed in the corner and a large dresser in the adjacent one. It’s tan, and rather boring to look at. 

Wracking his brain to find out where he is and why, he physically flinches when the events of last night reappear before his eyes in quick succession. Michelle, Mr. Stark, Ben. The hospital, the car crash, the doctor. The hopelessness, the fear, the utter despair. _May_. Everything comes rearing itself to the front of Peter’s mind, and he nearly doubles over in the process. He sits up, not knowing what to do with himself, not knowing where to go next. What can he do? Thankfully, he doesn’t have to choose for himself, and he hears a soft knock at the door. 

“Pete? You up in there?” Ben’s voice sounds clear despite not being in the room.

Peter opens his mouth, not saying anything. He can’t, everything that happened was just so sudden that he can’t even begin to process it. 

“Uh,” He says smartly. 

“Well, I’ll take that as a yes.” There’s a pause, almost as if he done talking, but instead he continues. “You thinking about coming outta there? It’s almost 2, I just thought you’d want to eat.” 

Peter’s stomach growls in response, and he wills himself to fumble out of the covers. “Yeah, um, just gimme a minute.”

He hears Ben make an affirmative noise before walking away. 

Peter puffs his cheeks and blows out through his mouth, raising his hands to wipe the sleep from his eyes. Normally after sleeping for so long Peter would feel refreshed and caught up on rest, but now the hollow feeling in his chest from yesterday still remains. He closes his eyes, focusing on breathing, trying to remember everything he could about May. He didn’t want the day to come where he finds that the only thing he can remember about his wonderful aunt is that she was a blurry figure, lost in time, who smelled nice and made bad food.

So Peter squeezed his eyes and concentrated on May. May, always May. 

_“Peter?”_

_“Mm?”_

_“Whatcha thinking about there?”_

_Peter startles, looking up from his Thai and into May’s eyes. He swallows the food he’d been chewing on for the past five minutes, cringing at the texture. “What do you mean?”_

_May contemplates, swirling the cheap restaurant silverware in her hand before answering. “Well, I feel like you always have so much to say but you never say it. You used to chatter all the time when you were younger, about this and that, the theories of Bruce Banner, all the normal kid stuff.”_

_Peter chuckles._

_“And now, all that chatter is still happening, it’s all just going on up there.” She gestures to his head. “So, what were you thinking about?”_

_Peter shrugs, pushing his plate away from himself. “Dunno.”_

_May huffs a laugh. “Ha. Two words. Bull, and what’s the other one? Shit.”_

_Peter smiles, raising his hands in surrender. “Really! Well, I mean…”_

_May nods knowingly, and rests her head on her fist to listen._

_“I guess it’s just, I dunno. Say, for example, millions of years ago, with the dinosaurs right?”_

_“Yup, with the T-rex and the Broncos.”_

_Peter purses his lips. “I mean, those existed millions of years apart, but whatever, that’s beside the point.”_

_“Of course.” May grins. “Continue.”_

_“Well,” Peter smiles sheepishly to himself. “This is kind of a stupid thought, but because of the earth's revolution around the sun, had it been a different part of the year, the meteor that led to their extinction wouldn’t have hit.”_

_May shrugs. “Well, yeah, I suppose so.”_

_“And originally, that meteor wasn’t even en route to our planet. Another couple million years before it hit, that meteor was floating through space, headed to some other point in our universe, light years away. However, all it took was one small nudge from a second floating rock in space, and the fate of the dinos was sealed.”_

_May hums._

_“And it brings me to wonder what the chances were that the earth was in that point of the year, and that meteor in space was pushed towards us to create the perfect situation of the extinction of the dinosaurs.”_

_May raises her eyebrows and pushes her long, smooth hair out of her face. “Well, I guess we won’t know, will we.”_

_Peter halfheartedly shrugs his shoulders again. “I’m just thinking about what the chances are that everyday things just happen, y’know? First of all, the chances that any one of us are even born are 1 in 400 trillion. With that as a starting point, there goes on to be situations that happen that is one in an infinite amount of other possibilities, but that one situation is the one that happens anyway. So what are the chances that you found a five dollar bill the other day on the street? What are the chances that I go to the school I go to? What are the chances that-.” Peter swallows and pauses, wondering if he should even bring it up. He ducks his head so May won’t see tears pooling in his eyes. “What are the chances that she died that night?”_

_May sits there, mouth slightly open in surprise. She hurries to reach over the small table to hold his slightly shaky hand. “Oh, Peter. It’s not your fault, honey.”_

_Peter shakes his head but doesn’t say anything else, because she doesn’t_ know. _She doesn’t know that he had intentionally let that thief get away, resulting in the girls death. She doesn’t know that he had the power to do something about it, because he’s Spider-Man. She doesn’t know how Peter had to watch the life leave her eyes as he was helpless to save her. She doesn’t know._

_But Peter doesn’t say anything._

_Instead, he focuses on how her lavender smelling hair grounds him, the smoothness of her skin on his hand, her thumb rubbing his palm, how her breathing remains steady and strong, as well as her heartbeat, which Peter has come to recognize easily. Her eyes are pools of intelligent brown, and they’re beautiful, like they hold flecks of sunlight trapped within them._

_May reaches her other hand to Peter’s cheek, wiping his tears, and leaning over to touch their foreheads. They’re so close that Peter feels May’s breath when she speaks. “Peter Parker. You are the most brilliant, wonderful boy I have ever met. When you speak, you speak of such intelligent and thoughtful things that only you could come up with. I’m sorry you were there that night. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did, and that’s just how things are. And sometimes that’s ok. It’s ok, Peter.”_

_Peter shuts his eyes and feels the heat of her forehead against his. “Ok.”_

_It’s ok._

When Peter opens his eyes, he’s in a dull room with a single bed and a dresser, and May is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha oops. So I’m sure not many people had actually been eagerly waiting for this update, which is probably good seeing as it took me forever, but here it is now. So yeah, here’s this chapter. I just learned how to italicize my stuff, so that’s cool too. Truth be told, I didn’t think I’d actually be writing this much, but that obviously wasn’t the case. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this third chapter, see ya


	4. Poker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donuts and poker I guess

Peter is brought back to reality by louder tapping on the door. “Coming out?” Ben says a little awkwardly.

Peter flinches and stands quickly, shaking himself out of his head. “Yeah, yeah, one sec.” He stays there for a moment, gathering himself.

He looks around to find the dresser that seems to droop in the corner, the drawers frowning in a downward curve. It may have been pretty before, before years of wear chipped at the white paint, leaving it spotty and sad. Broken. 

Peter’s heart goes out to it, and tries at the first drawer to see if there’s any clothes he might find. It hardly budges, and Peter doesn’t want to use his strength for fear of breaking it. So after a little bit of wiggling and jostling, it grinds open from the rubbing of old wood. The only thing that greets him is a centimeter thick layer of dust that begins to whirl up into the air and the obnoxious smell of cellar wood that’s been left brewing for years. He immediately crinkles his nose and coughs, pushing the drawer back into the dresser, back to how it was. It’s better that way.

Peter rubs his nose, just now realizing that he hadn’t brought anything of his. None of his possessions were with him, no clothes, no backpack(s), no suit. A small swirl of anxiety settles in his stomach, but he tries not to think about it too much. Instead, he focuses his mind on the present, something he hasn’t been doing much recently. 

He tries at the handle before realizing that it’s locked, furrowing his eyebrows at himself. He shrugs lightly, unlocking the door and opening it. Now that it’s daylight and he’s not trapped in his own head, he can see that the house isn’t much of a house, it reminds him more of an apartment, like May’s, but this one is cheap and bland and unloved. It’s also tight, and leaves Peter a little claustrophobic, but after turning a corner it opens up into a living space and kitchen. There’s a small table by the wall in the living room, which he’s currently shuffling in, that’s piled with magazines and envelopes, some with big, angry words that read ‘PAST DUE.’ Despite himself, he gives into the curiosity that claws at his brain. He uses two fingers to lift up a news clipping that marks the date of three days ago. Peter tries to think of anything significant that happened within that time, but he comes up blank.

Shrugging, he looks up and makes his way to the kitchen, aware of the mindless humming that’s coming from it. He sees Ben, who’s reading a crinkled newspaper spread on the kitchen counter and chowing down on a donut. He’s tapping his foot a little as he hums almost brokenly, eyes flicking back and forth across the page. Everything about it reminds him of May, as she would do the same thing. Except, however, her humming would turn into actual singing, and she would put on her own little show. Peter loved to hear her sing when she thought he wasn’t listening. Seeing Ben hurts like hell, but at the same time it warms his heart a little. 

“Uh, good morning,” he says, a little reserved. 

Ben looks to Peter and smiles. “Well look who decided to show up. How are you this morning? Well, afternoon, more like.” 

Peter is surprised at the concern in Ben’s voice, but he doesn’t show it. Instead, he smiles appreciatively. “I’m feeling a lot better actually.” It’s technically not lying. “Are those donuts?” Peter feels guilty for asking, instead of being offered, but he can’t ignore his practically aching stomach. 

Ben nods. “Yeah yeah yeah, just right there,” he says, pointing to the small round table in the middle of the kitchen, on it a box of what looks to be good ol’ gas station donuts. Peter takes two, when really he could take ten, but he restrains himself. He sits himself down quietly, not feeling brave enough to break the silence.

Ben looks over, goes back to reading, then looks over again in confusion. He shakes his head disapprovingly. “Nah, you’re a growing boy, Pete. Help yourself to more.” He looks back at his paper, for which Peter is thankful so Ben doesn’t see the shy smile that’s crawled up his face. 

He takes two more, and starts eating his cheap 2 o’clock meal. Despite the lack of nutrition, the growling and pain has started waning away, giving him relief. He’s reaching for a fifth when Ben sharply folds up the paper, startling Peter, and goes to sit across from him at the round, mahogany table. He seems excited, for what Peter can’t tell. 

Ben clasps his hands, smiling down at Peter. “So, what are you thinking you wanna do this weekend?”

Peter nearly chokes at the domesticality of the question. He blinks. This weekend? Normally he would be stoked to have the freedom of going around as Spider-Man, hanging with Ned, and spending time with May, but now it’s all turned on its head. It bugs Peter a bit, even stings a little, that his Uncle is so oblivious to what he’s going through. In his mind he’s casting him a glare, burning holes into the white cabinets to the right of Ben’s ear, but his outward face remains blank. “Well, yknow, I haven’t really thought that far. I think I might wanna take a day to get used to…” Peter rubs his eyes. “Everything.”

Ben nods. “Yeah, yeah, I get that. Jus’ thought it would be good to get your mind off of… everything.” 

Well now if Peter doesn’t just feel like a dick. 

He bites into his sixth donut, regretful, missing the expression of shock on his Uncle’s face. 

He finishes chewing and nods slightly. “Yeah, maybe we could figure something out later. For now I think I just wanna get, uh, settled in.”

Ben perks up when he says that. “Sure, sure. We can do that.” He smiles at Peter, earning himself a small one in return. It’s then that Peter remembers something.

“Hey, I left my backpack at the-.” 

Say it. Why can’t you say it, dumbass. The place where she died. Where you failed to save her, or even see her go. Failure.

“-the hospital.” Peter shivers, and shakes his head. 

Ben scratches his chin. “Oh yeah. There was this big dude in some fancy car drop it off. It was probably courtesy of your Iron friend.” Ben probably means to be joking, but the way he says it says otherwise. 

“Oh, ok. When d’you think I’ll get some of my clothes?” For Peter, the main thing he was asking was when he could get his suit and make sure it was in a safe spot. Yes, clothes were important, but sue him if Peter didn’t feel like going out for awhile.

Ben’s face remains sour. “Yeah, Stark must’ve packed some clothes into your backpack and then dropped it off.” 

Peter hums in understanding, rising to grab a napkin from near the sink. Ironically, Peter hates the feeling of stickiness on his fingers. 

He hears Ben grunt, and when he goes to sit back down, he looks uncomfortable. “They weren’t, yknow, together, right?”

For the life of Peter, he can’t make sense of the statement, his mind going blank. “What do you mean? Who?” 

Ben looks at him suspiciously, before elaborating. “May and Stark? Were they…?” Ben trails off, leaving Peter to fill in the blanks. When he does, his eyes widen comically.

“What? No, no that’s not-. No.” Peter shakes his head firmly. “No, they never were together.”

Ben nods lamely.

Peter’s face morphs into one of puzzlement, if not a little bothered. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, I was just a little confused when I got to hospital to see you and your buddy Tony Stark.”

“Oh.”

Ben sniffs. “So how do you know him?”

“Just um, through my internship.”

Ben’s eyebrows shoot up. “An internship with Tony Stark? Wow, look at you.” 

Peter blushes, embarrassed. He ducks his head to hide his face. “I uh, yeah. I was pretty lucky to get the…” Peter falters under Ben’s gaze. “Opportunity.”

Ben scoffs, and it surprises Peter, but he lets it go. Ben stands and lingers. “So wanna get things started? I’ve got some games around here somewhere. Poker? You like poker?” 

Peter’s mouth quirks up. “I’ve never, yknow, really actually played.”

Ben’s mouth forms an O shape and his hands raise near above his head. “What? Every man ought to learn poker. I’ll get the chips, why don’t you get the cards. I think there’s a deck laying around here somewhere. Maybe in the living room or somethin’.”

Peter nods and stands, thankful for being able to focus on a task. He watches Ben go off toward his own bedroom, before turning toward the other room. 

Ben’s apartment isn’t how he remembered it. Peter always thought that the couch was in a different spot, facing opposite the doorway. He thinks he recalls the walls being darker, and the curtains dirtier. He remembers loud laughing and the blare of the TV when Ben’s friends would come over on the rare occasion that Peter would come to see him. Peter appreciates the change in decor. 

Peter returns to the bills on the table and finds a stack of newspaper clippings there, his fingers brushing against the paper envelopes nearby. 

The clippings are an odd thing to keep in a house, Peter thinks, and it reminds him of how he would watch movies of psychos track down a victim with whatever means possible, and going to extreme lengths to achieve their goal. But Peter shakes his head. They’re just clippings.

It feels wrong, almost, to be in Ben’s house, like when he’d been invited inside a neighbor’s house just so May could talk with them for a little while. It’s almost intrusive, Peter thinks. He huffs some sort of laugh, letting his senses telling him where to go until he finds the cards. They’re under the couch. He forgets about the clippings.

—————————————————

 

“And so I would just have to… fold?”

Ben shrugs. “Well what do you think?”

Peter stops scanning the cards on the table and examines Ben’s face. Nothing, a blank slate. Wordlessly, Peter calls. 

“What, you’re only callin’?” Ben smirks and puts down two chips. “I’ll raise.”

Peter, once again at a stand still, chooses not to make any rash decisions. It is his first time playing, anyway. “I’ll call again.”

Ben shrugs, feigning innocence. “Alright, gimme a flop.” 

Peter honestly has no idea what he’s doing, but goes ahead and turns over three cards in the middle of the table. One by one, a jack of spades, a four of hearts, and a six of hearts reveals themselves. All of a sudden, the purpose of the game becomes clear, and he watches with surprise over his two cards as he envisions the outcome of the game. It’s almost too easy, actually. He copies Ben’s poker face and remains stoic. 

Just as suddenly, Ben says, “I’ll bet a hundred. What are ya gonna do about that, hm?” 

Peter doesn’t respond, instead calling in once more. Ben hums, and motions Peter to lay down another card. He does, revealing a queen of spades. 

“I’ll bet two hundred.” Ben slides his chips to the middle of the table. 

Peter retaliates by simply placing a single chip down. 

“Interesting, interesting.”

Peter looks up in time to see Ben’s smug face before it morphs into an indifferent mask. He hesitantly flips over a fifth card in the center, giving him exactly what he needs. A two of hearts. 

“All right Peter, no more Mr. Nice Guy,” chuckles Ben, betting one thousand.

While Peter isn’t at all one hundred percent confident in his play, he can still tell that Ben is betting enough to try to force Peter into thinking about what he’s doing, while also showing that Ben has confidence in his hand. Peter ponders what this really means and comes up cold, but he doesn’t really care if he wins or loses. It’s poker. Shrugging, Peter goes all in. 

Ben scoffs, a small smile playing on his lips. “Really. That confident, huh? Well in that case I might be awaiting a grand prize pretty soon. I might use this cash, go on a cruise, travel to Paris, maybe even Monte Carlos. No missus will be missin’ me, you know what I’m sayin’?” Ben adds a small wiggle of his eyebrow.

Peter ducks his head, giggling. The smile feels foreign on his face, and a drop of ice plants itself into his core. He shakes his head, getting back into the game. 

He watches as Ben moves all of his chips in front of him. “I’m all in too, then. Show me whatcha got.” 

Peter slowly reveals an ace of hearts and a jack of hearts. A flush. 

Ben looks down. He sighs, slapping his hand down. Peter sees his queens of diamonds and clubs and rejoices. A three of a kind. Peter wins.

“Well, Pedro, wanna deal again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, I’m so sorry. Really, I truly apologize. But now that I’m done with school, hopefully I can be back on my bullshit. (Maybe) If anyone is looking for anything to read over the summer, by the way, I highly recommend The Girl Who Could Fly by Victoria Forester. Love it. Anyway, sorry this took so long, and hope to see y’all soon.


	5. The Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where we start to see the movie come into play on the development of Ben’s character as well as Peter’s, especially their relationship. It should be interesting to go forward with this.

Peter lays in his bed that night staring at the ceiling with a full heart. Well, almost. 

The rest of the evening had been pretty cool; they played a couple more rounds of poker, all of which Ben won, then the tide turned when he whipped out a chess board, bringing the advantage to Peter. When Ben was tired of losing time after time again, the two of them had ordered a pizza and sat down to watch a movie Peter had never seen before, eating ice cream. Apparently they both favored Cookies and Cream. When the credits rolled around, a loud, croaky snore startled Peter, causing him to jump a little. The sight before him had made Peter chuckle. His uncle laid back, mouth open and mumbling every so often in his sleep. 

Now, he feels hopeful. He imagines himself coming home from school to greet Ben and tell him about his day, like he always did with May. He imagines Ben giving him rides to Ned’s house or to the mall so he could spend some more time with Michelle (and it wouldn’t be for shopping, instead maybe some light protesting). He pictures a life here. He wants it, too. It could be just the two of them, making their own family here, just like he and May did when she left him. 

Something tugs at the back of Peter’s mind and he can’t help but feel like there’s a missing piece. It takes him a few hours of sleeplessness for him to realize what it is, or rather who. Mr. Stark’s conversation with him replays in his head. 

_“You can stay with, you know, me, if you wanted to.”_

_“There are other options.”_

_“Mi casa es su casa, got it?”_

Peter realizes that he doesn’t actually have to idealize his situation with Ben. While it’s not bad there it’s not great, and there’s nothing forcing him to stay. There is another possibility. He could live with Mr. Stark, the person he trusts more than himself sometimes. If Mr. Stark cared about him, which he made abundantly clear at the hospital, why _wouldn’t_ he live with him? 

But. Doesn’t Ben care about him too? Yes, Peter decides, he does. Then why is this any different? Why is there the urge to leave his only blood relative behind? Surely the right thing to do was to stay. It was obvious Ben cared; from the way he looked at Peter with love and how he taught him things in such a way that made perfect sense. Besides, he didn’t want to let Ben down. He couldn’t. 

Decision made, Peter closes his eyes. He sees himself being happy here.

Sleep comes slowly, thoughts floating around his head about a charmed life with Ben that never could be real. 

—————————————————————

Peter wakes with a chill in his bones. The moment he slips out the covers a shiver races up his spine and makes the hair on his neck stand on end. He feels tense, but he can’t pinpoint what exactly is the cause. He shuffles his bare feet to the door, opening it timidly. 

“Shit.”

It’s Ben. His voice seems huskier than yesterday. Not by much, but it makes Peter feel weird. From his vantage point in the doorway, Peter can see Ben scratching his bearded chin in dissatisfaction. He’s sitting on the couch surrounded by a pad of paper, a calculator, the newspaper clippings, and a phone. In front of him lie the bills Peter had seen yesterday. He almost wishes he hadn’t seen them, so this wouldn’t be so off putting. But he did, so it is, and a part of Peter wants to walk over there and interrupt whatever was happening between Ben and the red PAST DUE papers, but another part, a larger part, tells him to wait. 

For the most part all that happens is angry muttering and scribbling on the yellow notepad. Peter sees him write a lot of zeros. 

The occasional mumbles and scratch of paper are blatantly interrupted by the vibration of a phone on the coffee table. Ben eyes the phone from where he’s sitting, but after a moment he picks it up, offering a tired greeting. 

“Yeah, it’s Ben.” 

“I know it’s you, I’m the one who called. You gotta get your shit together, man.” The person on the other end sounds nervous and very displeased. Peter forgets that he could hear everything that was going down, so he closes his door guiltily. 

While he had the best intentions, the door doesn’t really stop his super hearing. 

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Just get off my back and I’ll get it done. Now’s not a good time anyway,” Ben says.

The man on the end of the line laughs, but nothing is actually funny. “Not a good time? Are you serious, Ben? It’s never a good time for you. You needed my help and I got you on your feet, but I don’t see a single goddamn penny in return. Why’s that, huh? Because it’s not a good time? Yeah, right.”

Before Peter can turn around, collapse in his bed, and shove his pillow over his head, he hears a growl come from Ben. “Listen, asshole. You may not see any money at all if you keep up this ‘high and mighty’ act.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You can’t just-.”

“Oh really? And why the hell not? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you’ve wanted to keep your, shall I say, _side project_ from seeing the light of day, right?” 

There’s a pregnant pause, and when the man speaks his voice shakes imperceptibly. “What are you doing?” 

Ben shrugs, probably. “All I’m saying is that I’m sure your family would wanna know what you’ve been up to recently. That is, unless you drop the money issue and fuck off.” 

There’s nothing but some heavy breathing on both sides of the phone. 

“You smug son of a bitc-.” The line goes dead. 

Peter, at this point, had buried himself in his bed and tried to cover his ears as effectively as possible, even considered stuffing himself in that dresser, but once again his blessing has proved to also be a curse. He had heard every word. The conversation had Peter’s stomach swirling. 

The Ben he had seen last night was nothing like the Ben he had just heard. Last night Ben was energetic, fun, and pretty much a family man. Now, he’s rather intimidating and dangerous sounding. He didn’t just _blackmail_ someone, did he? No, no he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. Right? Maybe it wasn’t even blackmail, maybe…

Ok, it definitely sounded like blackmail. But maybe it wasn’t.

Knowing nothing better to do, Peter stands and leaves his room.

Immediately after Ben sees him enter the living room, his face brightens and a smile appears, the complete opposite of his words just five seconds ago. His eyebrows even raise in excitement. “Hey champ, nice to see you up before lunchtime.” 

Peter studies him for half a moment before returning a faux smile and responding. “Huh, I guess I was too excited for breakfast.” 

Ben sits up and laughs a little. “That’s the thing I wanna hear. I can make pancakes, do you want pancakes?” 

Peter opens his mouth, because of course he wants pancakes, but before he can say anything Ben beats him to it. “Of course you do, you’re a growin’ boy. You should be eating all the time. Here, why don’t you grab your backpack by the door and put all your stuff away, I’ll see if I can get you those pancakes. Alright?”

Peter nods, keeping his head and eyes down. He turns to the hallway and grabs his stuff before returning back to his room. _His_ room. 

Peter flops back on his bed and tries to shake his head to clear the last couple minutes from his brain, but it obviously doesn’t work. It never does. 

After a moment he feels like he should at least be somewhat productive, so he unzips his backpack and the first thing he sees is his suit. The sight of it out in the open makes his heart jump, so he stuffs it to the bottom. 

For a bit Peter takes the time to fold his clothes neatly, because he’d rather be doing that than be thinking about the phone call. He transfers everything into the dresser, but he still needs more space and there’s literally nothing else in the room. 

Peter glances at the rest of his clothes and shrugs, opting to just throw them under his bed for the time being. Peter shuffles between the wall and his bed to stars stacking his stuff, but not before his foot catches on something. Something hard. 

For a second it’s just agony as he brings his bare toes to his hand and tries to message them, hopping up and down on his other foot, chanting, “Ow ow ow.”

Once the pain subsides and the involuntary tears in his eyes fade away, he kneels down and looks under the bed. 

What he sees makes his blood go very cold. 

_You should check it out._

Before he can stop himself, his fingers reach under and circle around the barrel of a shotgun. 

In all of his work as Spider-Man, he had never actually held a gun. Crazy, right? Maybe that’s why he picked it up. Maybe he wanted to feel a real gun for the first time. Whatever the reason, he would undoubtedly regret it later, whether he knew it or not. 

Bringing it up above the bed, Peter lets some sort of morbid childish wonder come over him as he inspects the weapon. “Holy…” 

Is this what bad guys feel when they go around the streets waving these things? He brushes his fingers along the butt of the gun, marveling at the shape. It doesn’t last for long. Looking at the gun as a whole, his face morphs into one of disgust. These things, he registers, are filthy. They kill people. In fact with every touch he feels his hands get dirtier and dirtier, and he has the sudden urge to throw the weapon back under the bed and never look at a gun again. 

Before he can, however, the door bursts open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeyyyy. So yeah, I haven’t given this up yet, and I don’t really plan to so... here it is, another chapter. I hope you all like it, and please, I love every single comment on here so feel free to take some time and chat with me! I’ll probably respond. Also sorry for any mistakes in the writing, I’m rather tired and hardly edited it. Also it’s short but that’s because I had to audio record bits of the movie so that I have proper dialogue and that took... forever. One more thing, sorry if it’s bad. Anyway, I hope you all have a good day!
> 
> (Btw I finished this thing at 3:30 in the hecking morning)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is my first fanfic ever, so I really have no idea where this’ll go. It’s just something I’ve been thinking about and wanting for awhile, but since no one was doing it, I just went ahead and gave myself what I wanted. Sorry the first chapter is rushed and just completely horrid, but I promise that I’m a better writer than that. Uh what else. Oh, as for updates I really have no idea how often I’ll be able to post. I’ll probably post faster depending on the reactions. We will see, my dear friends. We will see.


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